clean
by findingthesunlight
Summary: "Her bracelet jingled as she played with the ends of her hair; her eyes downcast, hyper focused on her denim jeans. "I…uh…I've…" she never stuttered before, "struggled with an eating disorder…bulimia nervosa." —- DanBlair
1. Prologue

**clean  
** dan/blair

 _prologue  
_ —

* * *

Her stomach grumbles and she cries.

It's 4:22am and she's invisible. It's 4:22am and she's empty. No one catches her deploring herself, depriving her body, or dying inside. Insecurities bleed from her mirror cracks and her hips wear the scars. It's the all too familiar fall from grace with the dreaded paradox of wanting more, wanting less. She could see the headlines now: Upper East Side 'It Girl' Ruptures Stomach Lining. Tragic, really—except this isn't her first binge, purge or sleepless night. And her own damn 'family' doesn't even notice her.

* * *

She first told him about her history of bulimia on a Tuesday. There they were, sitting on The Met steps. She had a Starbucks Caramel Latte in her left hand and an Asiago cheese pretzel beside her. Her dark brown eyes were sparkling from the sun above her, his grey St. Jude's hoodie fit her well enough, matching her glittering beret. She wore a silver Alex and Ani bracelet on her left hand; it had a silver plated piece attached with a symbol engraved. Her brown hair was down, a black hair tie occupied her right wrist, swooping down her back, parted on the right. No matter where he looked though—the V she cut at the neckline, or the way her red lips tilted up when she smiled or the crinkling of her nose as she laughed—he always drifted back to her bracelet.

Dan Humphrey was—  
"Quit staring." The words weren't loud but they snapped him out of his own thoughts on her jewelry. She put the coffee she was drinking down, swept her hair to the left. "It means strength," she said.  
He opened his mouth to speak, but only licked his bottom lip while she took a breath.  
Her bracelet jingled as she played with the ends of her hair; her eyes downcast, hyper focused on her denim jeans. "I…uh…I've…" she never stuttered before, "struggled with an eating disorder…bulimia nervosa."  
"Blair," and he let out the lungful he'd been holding. "You know you didn't have to tell me."  
"I know."

Blair smiled lightly; it reached her eyes. She popped open the plastic containing her pretzel and looked up at the sun. Then, she laughed. Took a bite. Dan went up a step to meet her where she's at. He watched her chew, her jaw in perfect alignment, mouth closed. She really was the most beautiful girl on UES. Stray hairs attached to her lipstick, so he moved them out of her way, held her face as if it were porcelain. She swallowed and he kissed her.

An hour and an entire make out later, he went home and Googled the shit out of Blair's bulimia.

* * *

It's an ordinary thing when hair falls out, save for Blair Cornelia's. They're watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ when she places her head on his lap for a while. As she readjusts, locks cascade from her scalp faster than she has an explanation for. The next time he sees her, she keeps bows in her hair. She cuts her already small sandwich into slivers. Picks the chocolate chips out of her breakfast muffin. She says she can't meet him at the art gallery because she's redecorating her bedroom. He cannot stop noticing how white walls match her skin. She asks him if he likes it, and he nods stiffly. _You're sick again, baby_ , he doesn't say.

Dan doesn't do anything either, except follow Waldorf.

"You're not okay."  
Blair wants to shrink. She can't pretend to be stupid now. How could she be so _dumb,_ disappearing and leaving a trace? And even if she hadn't, she's always known _he'd_ figure it out eventually. He is God damn observant. Here's her—in her own house—being interrogated. Didn't people have better things to do than stalk her? First, Gossip Girl knows the intricacies of her daily life; second, Dan shadows her into the only private sphere she's ever had. The volume of her thoughts isn't loud enough to drown out Dan's sigh. She can't handle his exasperation this very moment. _Please leave_.  
"You're bulimic again. We're not leaving this bathroom until you get help. I know you've been purging; Darota called me. She says you've been too fucking happy, but I know that's bullshit—you're sad all time and food…you're scared to eat it."  
Whispering under her breath is useless. What should she say? That, yeah, she's not better because she keeps going back to Chuck; that his words bruise her? Or even as she's almost in college and her mother still has a hold on her? Social fucking suicide. A part of her tells her to stay. Dan is different. While with him, she doesn't think about destruction, self-loathing or a certain Bass. Just Dan and Blair, Blair and Dan; coffee cups and movie marathons; Manhattan mornings and Brooklyn nights. Just the way she likes it—as much as she hates to admit.  
"Call your doctor, love. I'm worried about you."  
Dan leans his back against the sink, and Blair pulls the lump out of her throat with her teeth. "I'm fine, Humphrey. I'm eating."  
"If you don't call, I will."  
"Fine, fine." Blair relents. "Know I'm doing this because I'm sick of listening to your insufferable pushing." She purses her lips.  
"Proud of you."  
A smile. "Shut up. Hand me the phone and guard the door."

He kisses her cheek, and does as he's told

* * *

 **author's note:** [tw: bulimia nervosa]. this piece is very personal to me as i have osfed and arfid. writing this makes me cry. if you're triggered, please don't read this; i promise i won't be offended! ~ i'm back on a fresh slate. i used to be on here lots when i was sick with an eating disorder. the ironic thing is i never thought i was sick; but looking back at my old works from 2014-2015 i realise that i was struggling tons with depression and suicidal thoughts, even an ed. nonetheless, i have since chosen recovery (january 2016). it's been an uphill battle from there though, not all sunny and happy. i spent a lot of time crying and reacting emotionally and anything could've thrown me back down the path towards using behaviours. now two years into my journey, i feel stabilised to say the least. okay so... this is a long note and i really just want(ed) to give an update!


	2. Chapter One

**clean  
** dan/blair

 _chapter one  
_ —

* * *

The waiting room looks like any other for the most part. Chairs too hard for their asses, faux orange softness. All lined in rows of three or four. No one actually uses the white armrests; they're all clacking their gum and clicking their cell phones. A round mahogany sign in desk is at the right. Atop the desk is pages worth of tables filled with names and appointments. Humphrey writes in quick cursive: _B. Waldorf_. Blair is hiding behind his unbuttoned, plaid flannel shirt, only her head visible. The receptionist flirts with Dan, to which Queen B tugs at him a bit too aggressively, and asks them to take a seat.

"I'm going to the bathroom."  
"Nope." Dan pops his 'p'. Blair slumps into her seat.  
Whatever Blair does, Dan does; wherever she goes, he goes.

There are soft pastel painted animals. Tigers, bears and lions are cheerily munching on respective hays and grasses. They're living comfortably around bright yellow bees and fresh spring-budded trees, dripping golden sap and something about the realistic mural tranquilises Blair's nerves. A bright sun gleams in the upper blue corner and butterflies zoom between marshmallow clouds. It's a world she doesn't know—one where everything isn't falling apart and they're not sitting in a stuffy hospital waiting room, dreading. Blair taps her foot on the floor.

Dan doesn't have the heart to stop her.

"Don't pout, princess."  
Blair forces a beam.

 _Tap_ , _tap_ , _tap_. She pulls at his hand and plays with his fingers. _One_ , _two_ , _three_ , _four_ , _five_. Someone coughs. Blair sighs and rolls her eyes. Dan smirks. "This is worse than _Mommie_ _Dearest's_ attempt at being sentimental," she tells him, turning to see his face and sitting on her leg. He chuckles, and replies he's never seen it. "God, if there's anything good in you, Humphrey, please don't even; I can't imagine who would want to subject themselves to this movie. It's the most excruciating experience that drones on forever. In fact, we need to watch it just so you're not left out."  
"No thanks, B. I, uh, think I'm alright."  
She hits his shoulder. "Humphrey."

An in-her-thirties nurse in flower print scrubs arrives shortly showcasing a bittersweet grin. Reason number one Blair hates hospitals; everyone always looks at her with pity. "Good news, folks. Blair's up. Dr. Sherman will be out in a few to confirm Blair's appointment for an eating disorder evaluation, I suppose? So hang in there a moment."

* * *

Blair sits on the table's parchment paper, the scale directly opposite her. She knows how fat she is; she doesn't need this. It's not until Humphrey says, "We're not here to make you fat, we're here for help," that she realises she said the last part out loud. Then, he stands blocking her view of the wretched thing. Legs swing; eyes look him up and down. She curses under her breath. Dan squats in front of her: "Look at me—you are strong, intelligent, determined and fierce and I love you."

And before Blair could respond with some depreciating remark, in walks her doctor. Dan stands, still obstructing eyesight of the scale.

"Alright Ms. Waldorf, what's up?"  
Blair stares, reaches for Dan, and looks back again.  
Dan holds her hand, "If I may, sir. I'm Dan, by the way. I asked her to call. Her hair's falling out, she's barely eating. Do you see how pale she is?"  
"Is that so?" Dr. Sherman paces between the two, as Blair blinks back tears. "Hm…up on the scale, then. Blind weigh-in?"  
"Tell me," Blair whispers, stepping on the scale in nothing but her dressing gown.  
A few moments. "95 pounds."  
Dan helps the angel down. He wants to feel angry, angry at her for not taking care of herself, but he knows better. Instead, he feels anger towards her mother and her father and Serena and Nate and most definitely Chuck.

Doctor Sherman checks Blair's vitals and things. Her metabolism is slow; her BMI is 15.8 and her bones are prominent beneath her skin. Twenty-four bone caps are visible from the sides of her snow-coloured skin. Twenty-four bones are lining her back as if they were puppet strings. Dan tries his hardest to not breathe through his teeth or visibly cringe. But it's difficult. He actually has to turn away, go get a cup of hot coffee. God, he's so fucking angry.

He slams the door on his way out.

* * *

Coffee burns his throat on the way down, though he doesn't care. The weather is a stark contrast from the happy-go-lucky interior. Winds are raging—howling. Rain pours down like an opaque sheet. Branches are falling around passersby like rose petals off their flower. Another sip. His hands are trembling. He lets out a scream louder than he imagined. Kicks the wall in front of him. Fuck Chuck and his stupid pretty face. The bastard uses Blair like a pawn in his own twisted game, tells her he loves her and then leaves. One doesn't love someone without caring about them. That's not love. Another scream, Dan finishes his drink, and unclenches his fists.

Blair answers questions honestly; it was Sherman after all. And, besides he promised not to tell her mom.

* * *

"How often do you purge?"  
"Once a week."

"Why?" The question is invasive. An invasion of whatever privacy she has left. It takes everything. Yet, she musters up the courage to spill with a smile, (She smiles because that's who she is—Blair fucking Waldorf, elite socialite. They were supposed to _smile_ , _smile_ , _smile_ ). Maybe in hopes of actually getting better. Maybe it's possible, maybe it's not. The only person who ever cared about her is Humphrey. _He loves me for me_. So, she says it.

"I don't know. I didn't mean for it to happen. I just need it to stop."  
He pushes further, "what's 'it?'"  
"Everything. My mom, Chuck. The world. It's spinning out of control; I don't know anything anymore."  
"I see. Kind of like how you felt when your parents divorced.  
"Yes," Blair is quiet. "As long as I say the right thing and act the right way, they're happy! No one really cares. I'm a fat, gluttonous pig and that's all I'll ever be. People keep lying to me."

* * *

Dan watches her speak with Doctor Sherman a bit before entering the room again. Both his and Blair's cheeks are wet. She notices his knuckles have turned purple on his left hand. An iced coffee, for her; she assumes, is in his right, pressed against the injury.

"Dan, I'm glad you join us. I was just telling Blair that I want her to start seeing a dietician to assist her in weight restoration, and to start seeing me for weekly therapy sessions again." Humphrey nods. "Now, you both are responsible for logging meals in here—" the doctor holds up a little black notebook. "I know you can do it, Ms. Waldorf."

She nods grimily, "yeah, thanks." Her mouth's a thin line, lips together.

Dan squeezes her frail hand—he can follow her veins, see the blue blood coursing through—in support. Serena may be sunshine, but Blair's a river. A little cold, though warmer once you get used to her. Got to jump in both feet first. He passes her the iced beverage and she slurps in a very non-Waldorf fashion. If this were normal Dan wouldn't laugh, but it isn't so he does.

Doctor Sherman grins at the utter happiness and dismisses them.

* * *

Humphrey kisses her hair and she pecks his lips, "you did so good baby; I'm fucking proud."  
"Say it again."  
"You did wonderful, angel; so very brave. So, so good," he tells her.  
"Again, Dan." He eyes her sweetly, "what?"  
"You just said my name," and he tells her how proud he is the entire way home between breaths and peeled off clothes.


	3. Chapter Two

**clean  
** dan/blair

 _chapter two  
_ —

* * *

Serena is babbling about something. Blair should tell her, except Humphrey's not here and she doesn't feel safe. It's really strange how quickly things change. One minute Serena's her best friend—the one she tells everything to, the one who comforts her when she cries—and now that's Dan. He's in her veins, and he's never coming out, much to van der Woodsen's dismay.

She had a panic attack this morning over buttered toast, and Dan held her trembling. Her throat closed, the piece locked in her mouth. Her tears poured out rapid fire, her heart uncontained by her ribcage. Sweat beads resident on her forehead. The waves of fear, sadness and anxiety flooded her all at once. Which one does she grab first? It takes control; it always does. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. She felt the spinning of the room buried deep inside her bones, then. He whispered in her ear and she heard none of it until her chest stopped disintegrating. He rocked her back and forth following the rhythm of his own much slower heartbeat. She had dropped herself to the floor in all the commotion, so there they sat, slowly tranquilising Blair.

Serena stops talking to chew her greasy cheeseburger. "Aren't you going eat your pancakes?" comes about a minute later.  
"What are you; my mother?" It was snarky Blair knows, but she (really doesn't) hate(s) food. Besides, if she doesn't eat she won't need to write in her little black book, and carry on pretending she's not feeling scared of calories Serena's eating getting in her own body.  
"B!' Serena reprimands. "What's wrong? You know can tell me."  
"Actually, S, I can't." Blair should tell her, except Humphrey's not here and she doesn't feel safe. She's not pretending. There is oil on Serena's fingers when the brunette leaves the table, plate mostly filled.

"I can't do this, Humphrey. Serena's asking too many questions. Was she always this nosey?"  
Humphrey laughs.  
"Not funny. Seriously, grow up."  
"Okay, okay! Look, people are worried, Waldorf. Your mother called me t—"  
"And?"  
"To ask why you didn't tell her about Dr. Sherman," he continues like he wasn't cut off.  
"Oh my God! No, no, no." Blair spins in the bathroom, her back now to the sink. Her forehead creases and she whimpers.  
"Blair, everything's going to be fine," Dan assures her, even though he isn't sure how yet. "Just go eat, please; tell Serena I say hi." _Click_.

"Dan says hey."  
"Oh," Serena pauses, "do you still like him?"  
"Yeah, Dan and I have a real connection." Blair finally puts a pancake bit in her mouth and chews.  
"I'm—I'm happy for you. He's good to you."

* * *

Blair closes her eyes. The world is dark. Pitch black. And then there's Chuck. He has a hand around her tiny waist and another around her throat. "Say it, three words, eight letters and I'm yours. I love you." But she can't because there are fingers curled about her neck getting tighter and tighter. Her breath is shallow, cold and she sees its vapour dissolving. She doesn't feel anything—not physically, not for Chuck. Someone is screaming, shaking, sobbing.

She's started hearing her goddamn heartbeat. Since when is she a graveyard of fragile bones? This isn't what she wanted to be. She knew pretty hurts, but she never expected to be on fire. Sometimes, Blair saw herself in the mirror and recognised herself. Is it too hot? That doesn't stop Chuck from lighting the vintage Camels in his pocket. Blair begs him to put it out. Let her go. Please. Although, he doesn't hear her. It's like she's a mime in an invisible box. Not seen, not heard, never understood. Where is Lonely Boy; isn't he supposed to save her from this Bass-tard? "You'll have to say those three words to get him."

* * *

Blair parts her lips and something touches her hand. The colours slowly return to the room, and Blair's eyes open.  
"I really proud of you." S tells her.  
"Thanks," B whispers back.  
"I know there's something in Barney's you'll love," S giggles. "I saw it yesterday when I was window shopping."  
"You know I'll never buy anything from the windows!" Mock a gasp.  
"I went inside Barney's, I'll admit, at least on this one."  
"We'll walk and talk," Blair replies.

The brunette looks around, and pulls her open coat tighter on her shoulders. The last time she was here was two weeks ago. She hadn't bought anything because she felt self-conscious. Her condition, of course, was well hidden from anyone but in full-swing. Okay, maybe she'll see the thing S picked out, but she won't dare try it out; she isn't ready. And maybe, just maybe, she'll imagine herself owning it. Ser is on her way over with a white and blue striped halter top and a black sequined handbag. It is an YSL—this season!

* * *

Blair shuts her doe eyes. The world is dark. Pitch black. And then there's Chuck. Her arms are above her head and her slip is up on her waist. She needs to tell him to leave her alone. However, the girl doesn't have a working mouth. There's tape over it. She offers a muffled scream, yet all Chuck does is kiss her. It's hard; rough. Where is he keeping Dan? If she says it, then he wins. And he cannot win this. Not anymore. He's a jealous ex, or so she tells herself. It's like she's still a mime in an invisible box. Not seen, not heard, never understood.

When B opens her eyes, she runs, just leaves Serena standing in Barneys confused. She goes to the nearest junk diner and binges on double chocolate graham cracker pie. She purges, and wipes the vomit from the corners of her mouth. She's checking Gossip Girl for a _Spotted_ on her boyfriend—in Brooklyn. B walks there.

* * *

He's sleeping as she slips into bed with him. She admires the way his chest rises and lowers, her head on it. She whispers sweet nothings into the air, hoping he knows them.

"I'll protect us." She says it, but doesn't believe it.

* * *

 **authors note** : hopefully i wrote Blair's dialogue right. it's very different from writing Serena. also this paints Chuck badly, as i intended to.


End file.
